


everything's gonna be all right, I know

by sodiumflare



Series: a lifetime [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Christmas, Fortunately they are all very good at hugs, Gen, M/M, Nile does!, Non-Sexual Intimacy, greatest hits of Prague, you know those days when you just can't stop crying?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28291176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodiumflare/pseuds/sodiumflare
Summary: “It’sChristmas,” Nile says, “and I’m in this beautiful city -” (“Don’t oversell it,” Andy says, “it’s only recently not a shithole”) “-on a European holiday with people with stories about getting thrown out of windows and I just keep thinking that I need to remember the time change when I call my mom.” She sucks in a breath. “But I can’t call my mom.”“No,” Andy says. “No, you can’t."
Series: a lifetime [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071548
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	everything's gonna be all right, I know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofinfinitesspace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofinfinitesspace/gifts).



> Functions as a sequel to "celestial navigation" but can stand on its own. Title from Merle Haggard's "If We Make It Through December."

Next to her, Joe’s breath fogs the air, misty white against the darkened sky before the breeze pulls it away. Nile thinks of carriage horses on a family trip to Kansas City when she was a child puffing clouds of white out of their nostrils, how her brother had said, “Look, they’re _smoking_ ,” all wonder and no fear. 

The ground is cold and slightly crunchy under her feet. A few stars have fought their way through the cloud cover, and the city lights glimmer in the Vltava, far down the hill below them. The eastern bank of Prague is just visible between the skeletal trees, gold-flecked in the wintry gloom. 

“It is always so quiet in winter,” Nicky says from somewhere behind her, and it’s true. There’s no snow on the ground since temperatures crept above freezing earlier in the week save for some icy, grey holdout patches on the north side of the park’s trees, but there’s still a muffled quality. Other patrons are scattered around the park, tucked in coats and hats and scarves, dark ghosts in the park lamps’ glow. 

It feels like snow on the way. Nile can taste it in the back of her throat, in the nearly menthol tingle in her nose. She may have spent more time in the desert than out of it for a few years there, but she’s still a south side girl in her bones, and her hindbrain is whispering that snow’s rolling down from the lake anytime now. 

There is, of course, no lake, because they are in Prague, not Chicago, where Nile’s mother and brother and grandma and aunt and ex-uncle they all still like and the neighbor from 15B will be gathering. Her mother will be breaking out the cans of fried onions for green bean casserole. Her grandma will be beating everyone at spades. It is December 23rd.

Nile blinks hard. Her sniff is a little wet. 

Andy tucks an arm around hers, leather bomber jacket squeaking companionably. “Come on,” she says. “There’s a pub around the corner. Let’s go get warm.” 

\----

Andy is standing in front of a mountain of a soot-blackened Gothic cathedral that looks like something out of a vampire anime Nile vaguely remembers from middle school drinking coffee out of a yellow-lidded McDonald's cup and it’s not even the weirdest thing Nile’s seen lately. 

Nicky is entirely too awake for the hour. He’d insisted that they get up early to beat the crowds. Although Nile had slept warmly, belly full of braised meat and potatoes and no small amount of the Staropramen Andy had carried in from the tiny grocery down the street, she still feels sandbagged. She needs stronger sunglasses.

Joe rests a hand on Nicky’s neck. “Good to see her again?” and Nile flashes through a moment of confusion before she catches Nicky’s face, grinning up at St. Vitus Cathedral like it’s Christmas morning. (Which in a day it will be. Nile’s fine. She’s fine.) 

Nicky steps forward, rests a reverent hand on the cold stones near the door like he’s greeting an old friend. Apparently this is a normal thing for them. 

“It is a pilgrimage of sorts,” Joe says, off her expression. She isn’t awake enough to rein her face in. “Nicky likes to stop by and see how she’s doing.” 

“They started building a church here in the - what, 900s?” Andy says, and Joe nods. Nicky is slipping through the massive front doors. Andy sips her coffee, the yellow plastic lid briefly lighting her face like the dandelions Nile had held under her brother’s chin when he was very small. 

“It’s nice not to be the oldest thing around sometimes,” Andy says blithely, drains her coffee.

“We’ll go see the Alps soon,” Joe says, and Andy flips him off, grinning. “Come on,” Joe says, and pulls Nile up the steps and into the cathedral.

Inside is dark and cool, like a parking garage if a parking garage were double the height of an airplane hanger and with gold leaf on every available surface, and smelling of juniper and incense. Long sweeps of pine garland with red bows are looped across the back pews, and there’s a Christmas tree draped with tinsel in the corner. Nile crosses herself reflexively. She picks out Nicky in a pew up front, near the altar, head bowed and hair stained rainbow hues in the light passing through the jewel-toned windows. “Is he okay?” she asks Joe. 

“He’s communing,” Joe says. “Want to light a candle?” He tows her over to a rack of votives flickering in ruby-red glass and pushes a few coins into a box near the rail. 

“Are you praying?” Nile asks, curious.

Joe shrugs. “Are you?” 

The smell of pine and smoke catch in her throat. 

“Oh, Nile,” Joe says, and pulls her into a hug. Her nose drips onto his scratchy jacket, and she starts to pull back, apologizing. “Don’t worry about it,” Joe says into her hair, holds her to him. “It’s Gore-Tex, it’s been through worse.” He pauses. “Much worse.” 

She buries her face further into his shoulder, snuffles in the smell of coffee and his detergent, and lets herself drift into the warm, minute sways of his body, his hand absently stroking over her back. 

Footsteps behind them, and she feels Joe shift forward slightly. She leans with him, smiles into his chest at the sound of a light smooch. “All right here?” Nicky asks, rests a hand on her low back. 

“We’re good,” Joe says, presses a kiss to her head. Nile scrapes her nose against his coat one last time and steps back, blinking in the comparative brightness. The cathedral has filled up a bit, other tourists staring at the majesty around them. A gaggle of children wearing Santa hats charges down the central aisle. 

They find Andy sitting on the stairs outside, leaning back on her elbows, long legs extended in front of her and crossed at the ankle. She’s smoking, face tilted to catch the hazy morning sun like a lizard, completely oblivious of the dirty looks she’s getting from tourists stepping around her. “All done?” she asks.

“All done,” Nicky says. He looks about ten years or several centuries younger, the bags under his eyes a little smaller, his color a little brighter. “Where to next?” 

“Come on,” Andy says. She stubs out her cigarette, pulls herself to her feet, and sets off across the cobblestones. “Let’s see if we can find my window.” 

Joe says to Nile under his breath, “Do you know what _defenestration_ means?”

\---  
So stopping by the communist monument thing was a mistake, but it ended in margaritas. 

By sundown, Nile has rediscovered for the umpteenth time that immortality doesn’t protect you from sore feet, and that Prague’s cobblestones absolutely have it out for her. She’s also discovered the joys of hot spiced wine in paper cups, in steaming greasy sausages with mustard, and watching Joe’s absolute joy at watching the astrological clock go through its paces over hot toddies. Nicky gets teary at the Lennon Wall, and they all quickly retire to a cafe for more fortifying spiced wine. 

“You cannot even imagine Prague in the late 80s,” Nicky is saying, a little misty-eyed, tearing into a plate of sweetmeats with an enthusiasm that would be endearing if Andy hadn’t told Nile exactly what they were. “Revolutionaries _everywhere_. The writers, and the theater -” 

“Do you remember the boat?” Joe asks, impenetrably, gesturing wildly. “That performance!”

“Incredible,” Nicky says. “And the puppets!”

“I thought the puppets were creepy,” Andy puts in. 

“Only because you have no artistic soul,” Nicky says, and Andy shrugs agreeably. 

“The monument,” Joe says, again completely impenetrable. “Nile, it’s incredible, you _must_ see it,” and the next thing Nile knows, they’re settling the bill and pouring back out into the streets with more of the hot wine in to-go cups, which Nile has a feeling isn’t strictly legal. “In the former Soviet Union, booze drinks you,” Joe says brightly and then, “Did I do it right?” 

“Maybe workshop that,” Nile says, and follows Nicky down the street. 

Nicky draws them to a stop in the dim twilight at a set of steps sloping up a steep, tree-cloaked hill leading away from the river. “ _Pomník obětem komunismu_!” he says with a flourish, and gestures grandly to a scene straight out of Nile’s nightmares. 

Emaciated, hollow-eyed bronze figures are frozen up the stairs leading into the darkening trees, less distinct and complete as they rise up the hill. The dark and the shadow leaves her mind free to fill in the faces, her mother and her brother and Jessamine in 15B and - 

_I can’t remember what my mother looked like_ , she remembers Andy saying somewhere in the back of her head, and Nile’s scarf is too tight around her throat, her coat too warm around her, and she needs to be anywhere else right now. 

“Nile,” someone says, but Nile’s off like a shot, skidding over the cobblestones. 

It’s Andy who finds her, eventually, on a bench by the river. There are some seriously creepy baby sculptures nearby but that’s going to be a problem for Later Nile. Current Nile is thinking about casseroles and sugar cookies and her grandmother’s solemn insistence that they leave out carrots for the reindeer even though her family outgrew Santa long, long ago. Jessamine’s poodle eats the carrots and they all pretend they don't know. Her brother always gets the Santa mug. Someone’s going to blow a breaker with the lights - 

Andy eases herself down next to Nile with a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” Andy says, and Nile glances over at her but Andy’s eyes are on the river, watching lights on boats passing under the bridge. “We thought Christmas would be easier for you if we played it casual, and we were wrong.” 

“I miss them,” Nile hears herself saying. “I miss them so much, Andy,” and Andy has an arm around her, pulling Nile close, pressing her cold nose into Nile’s neck. 

“I know, kid,” Andy says. “I know.” 

“It’s _Christmas_ ,” Nile says, “and I’m in this beautiful city -” (“Don’t oversell it,” Andy says, “it’s only recently not a shithole”) “-on a European holiday with people with stories about getting thrown out of windows and I just keep thinking that I need to remember the time change when I call my mom.” She sucks in a breath. “But I can’t call my mom.” 

“No,” Andy says. “No, you can’t,” and that’s all it takes to have Nile heaving forward to sob into Andy’s collar, fingers hooked into the back of her jacket like Andy’s her life preserver, and fuck it, she basically is. 

“I’m not saying you have to stop crying,” Andy says eventually into Nile’s hair, patting her shoulders like she’s a horse, “we have all the time in the world. But if you want we can see what a Mexican restaurant in the former Soviet Union is like. If you want. It’s right over there.” Nile huffs out a laugh. “Should probably avoid the ceviche,” Andy says. “Just guessing.” 

“Always the voice of wisdom,” Nile croaks.

Andy tilts Nile’s face towards her, uses her thumbs to brush Nile’s tears away. “With the combined wisdom of millennia, I can tell you that it’s hard to fuck up nachos,” Andy says, and she turns out to be right. 

Andy must have texted Joe and Nicky at some point, because they find Nile and Andy in the restaurant when they’ve just started on their second round of strawberry margaritas. Nicky’s poker face isn’t quite good enough to disguise his obvious disdain, but Nile knows he loves them, so whatever. 

“I told you the booze route was the best one,” Joe says, sliding into the booth companionably. Nicky finds the waitress and gets them all a pitcher of water, which is when Nile gets to try to explain the concept of “mom friend” to three very, very old people. It goes okay. 

\--

Nile wakes up to a phone ringing somewhere by her head, the six-note Nokia tone trilling straight into her skull. It takes her a couple tries to find the right button. “Yeah?” Her voice is sleep-hoarse. 

“Happy Christmas, Nile,” Booker says in French-accented English. 

“Booker?” Nile is still waiting for her brain to boot up. 

Booker says, “You’re staying in the usual place, yes?” 

“Uh,” Nile says. 

“Orange row house, big hill in the backyard, original Schiele in the dining room?” 

“Yeah - that’s _original_?” 

“Good,” Booker says. “They ought to be arriving any moment now.” 

“They? Who’s they? Some sort of international concierge super spy service?” Nile asks, scrambling for her slippers. 

Booker’s laugh is a soft burst of static in her ear. “Hardly,” he says. “I found Filip on LinkedIn. Enjoy, Nile. Give them all my love. And Merry Christmas, all right?” 

Dead air hums down the line and Nile keys the phone off and goes looking for her hoodie. 

The knock comes less than 10 minutes later, and Filip turns out to be a gangly, straw-haired boy in his early twenties with a delivery service, his uncle’s van, and English derived almost entirely from YouTube videos. 

“What’s up, fam?” he asks with finger guns and a megawatt grin when Nile opens the door. 

“What,” Nile says. 

“Cha boi brought your stuff,” Filip says, still grinning, and a similarly smiling mini-Filip comes around the side of the van with a dolly stacked with catering trays. 

“What,” Nile says again. 

“French toast, my dude!” Filip says, and he and his brother deposit the containers in her arms and on the tiled foyer floor around her before screaming off in their van blasting N.W.A. in the predawn light. The bass echoes gently down the street, and Nile realizes that it’s snowing and it’s Christmas morning

“Okay,” Nile says, and toes the door shut. 

Once she’s hauled them to the kitchen island, a quick scan of the catering trays reveals a mound of steaming French toast, a crunchy pile of bacon (and in a separate tray, a small pile of somewhat anemic-looking bacon that Nile suspects is turkey bacon for Joe), sliced fruit, and enough mimosas to lay waste to an entire sorority house. Good to know Booker’s priorities haven’t changed. 

She wakes the others up through the expedient method of pounding on Andy’s door and yelling up the stairs toward Joe and Andy’s room, and by the time they come shuffling in, she’s flummoxed enough by the espresso maker that she doesn’t even mind when Nicky gently nudges her aside. On her other side, Joe wraps an arm around her and presses a kiss to her forehead. Forehead kisses seem to be his thing these days. She can’t say she minds. “Merry Christmas, habibiti,” he says. 

Nile gestures toward the island, still leaning into Joe. He smells like sleep and like he might need a shower. “I think Booker sent these?” 

“Oh, killer,” Andy says, and Nile briefly remembers that Andy is six thousand years of condensed pop culture knowledge that occasionally hiccups up the wrong decade. “It’s probably not even poisoned!” 

His espresso acquired, Nicky leans in and folds himself around Nile’s other side, effectively wrapping her into a Joe-Nile-Nicky sandwich. “Are you having a good Christmas, Nile?” 

“She won’t if we let this get cold,” Andy says, and they break apart to grab plates and meet her at the kitchen island. 

Later, the four of them are crowded together on the sofa, Joe half on Nicky’s lap, Andy’s toes tucked under Nile’s hip. Nile had been slightly horrified to learn that the Jim Carrey Grinch was on Netflix Czechia, but it’s familiar enough to be comforting without being the kind of familiar that will lead to spontaneous sobbing, so it’s fine. Joe is staring at the TV like he’ll be able to divine the secrets of the universe from it. 

“Does America make more sense now?” Andy asks him, half-teasing. 

Joe’s brow furrows. “Yes and also no.” 

“Don’t ask me,” Nile says, stretches forward to refresh her mimosa from the pitcher on the coffee table. 

When Nile’s settled back down, Andy traces her fingers down Nile’s upper arm. “We are very glad you’re here,” Andy tells her, quiet enough to be heard under whatever the fuck Jim Carrey is doing. 

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Nile says, and means it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely took some liberties with Prague's geography, although somewhat in my defense, it's at least sort of how I remember it, even if I didn't comprehensively Google Maps the whole thing. All the monuments are real. The communism monument is very creepy. The Mexican restaurant is real (its menu is a trip) but alas I have not eaten there.


End file.
